


To Krycek

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Filk, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	To Krycek

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

To Krycek by Alyssa Fernandez

To Krycek  
A long-lost but recently discovered poem by Edgar Allen Poe. (Apparently Poe knew Mulder.)

Krycek, thy beauty is to me  
   Like those Martian chips of ore  
That gently, o'er the Bering Sea  
   The weary, weird worm oilean bore  
   To our own native shore.

Though Scully I've been wont to shun  
   Thy stupid hair, thy "punch me" face,  
Thy lying airs are so much fun  
   That sometimes I neglect a case  
To pistol-whip you with my gun.

Lo! In our gloomy prison cell  
   How statue-like I see thee stand!  
   The hand-cuff marks upon thy hand,  
Orpheus, from thy silo hell  
   All buff and tanned!

Poem discovered by Alyssa Fernandez .

  
Archived: April 02, 2001 


End file.
